


The Luckiest Man in the Whole F***ing World

by OrangeTabby



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Cooking, Covid-19 Related, Explicit Language, F/M, Fluff, Food, Humor, Hurt/Comfort, Modern Westeros, Police, Romance, Strangers to Friends, Teachers, pop culture references
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-25
Updated: 2020-03-25
Packaged: 2021-03-01 00:02:38
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,155
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23315863
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/OrangeTabby/pseuds/OrangeTabby
Summary: Sandor Clegane is in isolation at home after picking up the virus in the line of duty. Luckily, he’s got his cat for company and plenty of rubbish TV to stream. Then Stranger decided to go next door for a visit….A story about friendship, food, romance and dubious television. And a pandemic.Written for the Lock Down Fest collection.
Relationships: Sandor Clegane/Sansa Stark
Comments: 66
Kudos: 295
Collections: Lock Down Fest





	The Luckiest Man in the Whole F***ing World

**Author's Note:**

> Hi lovely readers. I wrote this for the Lock Down Fest collection, so if you aren’t feeling up to reading a fic with COVID-19 themes please skip this one. Having said that, it’s a (mostly) fluffy and light-hearted story for these dark times. 
> 
> Personal note - My family and I are as safe as we can be (we are all in lockdown) and I hope you are all safe and healthy too. We’ve been trying to find as much joy as we can in the situation: work/school/life still continues, albeit from home, and we’re lucky that we’ve been able to have fun with it (yesterday I got each of my kids to write and perform their own one act play, complete with makeup, props and costumes. It was completely wild 😂). I hope you are able to find some little bits of joy too, in such a difficult time.

Day 1:

The paramedics had to ensure the way between the ambulance and his apartment was clear of bystanders.

At least the mask covered most of his face.

Day 2:

All he fucking did was sleep and cough.

Ate some noodles.

Coughed some more.

Day 3:

Had crazy fucking fever dreams that he forgot each time he awoke. Probably scared the shit out of Stranger by continuously waking up with a start.

Day 4:

It was Stranger who outed him, the traitorous bastard.

Sandor dragged himself out of bed to let the fucking cat out onto the balcony for some fresh air. And by fresh air, he meant for Stranger to take a dump in the outside litter box for once.

Naturally, the poxy beast chose the opportunity to jump over the partition to the adjoining balcony of the neighbouring apartment.

“Stranger, come back, you cunt,” Sandor hissed, though talking made him start coughing again.

Stranger ignored him and started scratching enthusiastically on the neighbour’s sliding door.

Sandor eyed the glass fence, deciding if he might make it over and get the cat before the neighbour noticed Stranger, when the door opened.

“Hello pussycat,” said a musical voice. “I haven’t seen you in a few days.”

It was his hot ginger neighbour. She’d lived there for a couple of months now, and always insisted on saying hello to him whenever they met in the hallway. Hot Ginger Neighbour wasn’t even put off by his lack of enthusiasm for her fucking chirping, so he always gave a nod in return now.

She’d smiled the first time he nodded to her. It had been the most beautiful fucking smile he’d ever seen.

She bent down to pat Stranger, but must have noticed his bulk out of the corner of her eye because she turned to look at him.

“Sandor, right?” she said, though he hadn’t ever given her his name. She stepped forward onto her balcony so they could see each other properly.

“Aye,” he rasped.

“My name is Sansa,” she said, flashing that smile. “Are you under quarantine too?”

Sandor hadn’t known her name. He supposed he’d have to call her by name in his head, instead of ‘Hot Ginger Neighbour’.

He nodded, then said, “I’ve got the virus so I’m in isolation. Not sick enough to take up a hospital bed, so they sent me home this morning. You’d better wash your hands after touching my cat, just in case.”

So many words at once triggered his cough. He coughed into the crook of his elbow, though fuck knows how much good that was supposed to do.

“Oh my gods, are you okay?” She shook her head. “Of course you are not okay. Is there anything I can do?”

Sandor shrugged. “I’ve been on the couch, watching…”

He’d been binge watching _Oberyn Martell’s Fashion Fixes_. Again. He sure as fuck wasn’t going to admit to that, though.

“Rugby,” he said, then winced. The powers that be had long since called off all professional sport due to the pandemic. “Ah, old games of rugby.”

He coughed again.

Sansa frowned. “Do you have enough to eat?”

Sandor shrugged. “I have stuff in the cupboards.”

He’d had a non-contact grocery delivery organised by one of his colleagues when he got sent home from hospital, but he had been lying down than anything else. Tormund had ordered plenty of freezer meals and instant noodles, which kept him going because he sure as fuck didn’t feel like cooking.

Sansa frowned even harder. And narrowed her eyes. “Do you have any food allergies?”

He wasn’t sure where she was going with that, but replied, “No, I eat anything.”

Sansa pursed her lips, then nodded more to herself, he felt, rather than him. She gave Stranger another pat. “You should lie down,” she said briskly. “Bang on the wall if you need anything.”

Well, that was him fucking dismissed.

Stranger jumped back over the barrier and sauntered into his apartment. Sandor sighed and shuffled inside without saying goodbye to his neighbour.

He dozed off and on in front of the TV for the rest of the afternoon, with only a few coughing fits. He had a miserable fucking headache too, but painkillers took the edge off.

Sandor had a few half dreams, mostly involving Oberyn Martell and his crew of stylish sidekicks doing makeovers for Sandor and his colleagues. He awoke with horror after one nightmare in which the crew suggested he do something called a ‘sack and crack’ wax. Sandor didn’t remember hearing of that one before, but he could work it out. His brain had probably blocked it out due to the bloody horror. He made plans to punch anyone who approached any part of him with hot fucking wax.

He was recovering from the coughing fit triggered by the wax nightmare when there came a gentle knock on his door.

“It’s only me,” called Sansa’s voice. “I’ve left something here for you.”

The something turned out to be a large pot of chicken soup in a cast iron saucepan with a glass lid. It looked good. Thick and hearty. Well, as thick and hearty as chicken soup could get.

Sansa stood further down the hallway, well past the approved distance, waiting for him to retrieve the food.

“There’s enough for four big bowls of it,” she said. “You’ll need to reheat it. Much better when you are sick than convenience food.”

How the fuck did she know what he’d been eating?

“Aye,” he said.

She looked at him expectantly, and Stranger pointedly walked between his feet and sniffed the pot.

“Uh, thanks,” continued Sandor.

“You’re very welcome,” replied Sansa brightly.

The soup tasted really fucking good.

Day 5:

He still felt like shit.

At least his cough wasn’t as bad as yesterday. Or any of the other days since this clusterfuck started. He’d put money on the fact that soup had helped him.

The musings may have been caused by him still running a slight temperature, but his neighbour seemed akin to the Maiden incarnate right now. Well, the Mother, he supposed, whom he dimly recalled oversaw domestic shit such as cooking. Sansa looked as beautiful as the Maiden, though.

Stranger jumped up onto Sandor’s stomach, sat down and began cleaning his arse. As cats do.

Sandor supposed it proved a timely reminder that he didn’t believe in the gods. Though what if Stranger was an avatar of the Stranger sent to remind him that the whole Seven thing was a load of shit?

But if he was, how could they not exist? Did they exist only in the heads of followers?

What the fuck.

He was supposed to be resting so he could get better from this fucking plague. Not engage himself in theofuckinglogical debates.

Anyway, the gods obviously didn’t exist.

If they did, they wouldn’t be so cruel as to saddle a child with a ruin of a face.

If they existed and allowed his brother to fuck up his face, then fuck them.

Right.

Sandor shut his eyes and drifted back to sleep.

Day 6:

He managed to walk, carefully, out to his balcony again. It was a testament to how shit he’d been feeling that he didn’t even want to go for a run. He was more than happy stuck in his apartment.

“Use the litter tray, cat,” he said to Stranger, who sniffed the tray then sat down beside it and looked over to Sansa’s balcony. 

Sansa must have him talking to the cat like a fucking crazy person because she came out of her apartment and waved at them.

Sandor amended his thoughts. It wasn’t crazy to have conversations with his cat. Stranger had always been far better company than most people of his acquaintance.

Bunch of cunts.

“Are you feeling okay today?” asked Sansa, as she twirled a lock of her hair around her finger. “I didn’t hear you yesterday, I was worried.”

She worried about him?

“Just slept most of the day. Can you normally hear me?”

Sansa looked embarrassed. “The walls are very thin.”

Fuck, he hoped she hadn’t heard him watching porn or having a wank.

No, his bedroom was on the side farthest away from her place.

Shit, that might be why his other side neighbour Varys sometimes gave him funny looks. The layout of the apartments meant that they had adjoining bedrooms.

Well, it wasn’t like he was into any weird shit. Maybe an uptick of videos with red heads, lately. Since Hot Ging… Sansa moved in.

There had been that time he tried to illegally download a pirated copy of the new movie _Dornish Rim_. He’d forgotten the exact title, so he downloaded something called _Dornish Rimming_ instead. Varys had probably heard him swearing as he dived for the remote to switch it off.

She flashed him that million gold dragon smile, distracting him from thoughts of regrettable porn. “I’ve made you something else. I can drop it at your door again if you like.”

Sandor’s rusty manners flared to life. “The soup was delicious as fuck,” he mumbled.

“You’re welcome,” she replied graciously. “I’ll get the food now so you can go back to resting.”

He didn’t cough too much when he and Stranger went back inside. He hated coughing. Thanks to all the governmental pandemic coverage he pictured virus getting flagrantly shed every time he coughed. Seven Hells, every time he breathed out he felt like a bloody germ factory.

“I made you a lasagne,” she said brightly when he opened his door after she’d knocked and retreated back several steps.

The lasagne smelled fucking amazing. “I thought you couldn’t get pasta at the moment,” he blurted because he always said the bloody stupidest things. “Or mince? Everything long lasting got cleared out.”

“I still have some dried in the cupboard, but actually I made this pasta.” She gave him a shy smile.

Sandor blinked. “You made pasta? People do that?”

Sansa laughed. “I like to cook and obviously I have lots of time on my hands at the moment. And it’s easy, just strong flour and egg. Then you roll it really thin and that’s all it is. Anyway, I’m really lucky, I have plenty of food.”

The sound of cheering sounded from his TV.

Fuck.

Sandor had forgotten that he’d left his show running.

“Oh, that’s _Oberyn Martell’s Fashion Fixes_.” Sansa seemed unphased about his choice of viewing material. “I love that show! Have you seen the one where they shaved a number eight into a man’s chest hair for his son’s birthday?”

Sandor involuntarily touched his own chest before realising and snatching his hand away. “Aye I’ve seen that one.”

Sandor had seen them all.

“It never seemed like much of a fashion fix,” he said.

Sansa made a dismissive gesture. “They got him a nice check shirt too. He rocked the lumberjack look.”

Sandor hummed non-committally.

Sansa gasped and clapped her hands over her mouth, before evidently realising she shouldn’t be touching her face and put her hands down again, clenching her fists. “I always forget we aren’t supposed to do that. Luckily I washed my hands before bringing you the food.” She sighed and shook her head. “Anyway, why don’t we have a watch party? We can start the episode at the same time and message each other about it.”

Sandor blinked. She wanted to spend time with him? Even if it was in different apartments.

“If you’re feeling well enough, of course,” she said anxiously when he didn’t reply straight away. “You need to be resting.”

“I’m up for that,” Sandor replied, picking up the dish of lasagne.

“Great! If you give me your phone, I can…” Sansa grimaced. “Sorry, forgot we can’t go near each other. Me touching your phone right now is out too. I’ll just tell you my details.”

They exchanged contact details from their safe distance before moving back into the respective safe zones. Even before the pandemic it had been a long time before he exchanged numbers with anyone. He’d fucked plenty of women in his time, but a ruined face didn’t exactly make for long-term relationships.

**MissSansa: okay are you ready?**

**Sandor_Clegane: ready**

**MissSansa: alright press play when I bang on the wall**

A moment later there sounded a tap on the wall and Sandor started the episode. Stranger chirped and hopped up beside him on the couch.

He stroked down Stranger’s head, neck and back exactly the way the bloody animal liked it. “I know I said I’d never let another person find out I watch this shit, but here we are.”

Stranger rubbed his face against Sandor’s thigh to let him know who was boss.

Fair enough.

**MissSansa: I don’t like the blue shirt. It makes him look sallow.**

**Sandor_Clegane: I don’t know what that means, but he looks sickly.**

**MissSansa: Exactly!**

Sandor wasn’t much of an electronic messaging person. He preferred face-to-face communication. Most of his friends were at his work, anyway, and he saw those fuckers every day.

Well, every day until Plague Time.

Sandor shook his head. He should be out there with his colleagues. Policing was an essential service. Murder always happened. Crime never stopped simply because of a virus.

He gets coughed on by one clueless Detective Inspector and he gets taken out for fuck knows how long.

His phone beeped again. At least there was one bright spot in this shit situation. Life went on.

**MissSansa: I love Oberyn’s bow tie. I think you’d look cute in one** **😉**

Fuck, a winky face? What should he say in return?

**Sandor_Clegane: prob couldn’t get one the proper size to go around my neck.**

Oh what the fuck. Sandor imagined Tormund and Beric facepalming in frustration at his awkwardness. Bronn would doubtless smack him upside the head. Then show them all a pornographic meme to cheer everyone up after Sandor’s inability to communicate with a woman.

**MissSansa: True, you are a big boy!** **😉**

Another fucking winky face. Luckily, another message right after that one saved his pathetic arse.

**MissSansa: What do you think about them shaving the number into his chest hair? Cute in theory, maybe, but if my Dad did that I’d be super embarrassed. Especially as a kid.**

That was safer ground.

**Sandor_Clegane: Aye, it’s one of the weird episodes. Sometimes they do random shit. The kid doesn’t look too impressed by it.**

**MissSansa: Haha yeah, chest hair related trauma. At least they didn’t wax him.**

Sandor winced at the mention of wax, disturbing Stranger who dug claws into his leg.

He and Sansa messaged back and forth before he fell asleep in the middle of the conversation like a weakling. He figured, when he (and Stranger) woke up again a few hours later, that she’d understand.

Day 7:

The public health people came around to take his temperature and make sure he still functioned.

They wore full hazmat suits, casting Sandor in the role of a fucking plague carrier.

Which he supposed he was. He felt even more unclean than usual.

The timely diagnosis and subsequent isolation was certainly better than potentially running around infecting people like a Typhoid Sandor. He needed to keep reminding himself of that as the hazmat suits wandered around his apartment with swabs, checking… something?

It was like being in a disaster movie.

Fucking surreal.

Day 8:

**MissSansa: Do you like documentaries?**

**Sandor_Clegane: Aye.**

**MissSansa: Well! The new Theon Greyjoy doco is playing on free to air channel three right now**

**Sandor_Clegane: he’s that nature guy? Wasn’t he into tentacle porn?**

**MissSansa: well yes he used to be. He’s a serious journalist now, though. We grew up together 😁**

**Sandor_Clegane: I’ll take a look.**

**MissSansa: great, because I have the inside goss**

Sandor adjusted with his TV so it picked up the free to air channels rather than streaming services. He was rewarded with the sight of Theon Greyjoy’s punchable face on the screen.

**MissSansa: okay this bit with the puffins, Theon said some of those birds are fake.**

**Sandor_Clegane: what the fuck. which ones?**

**MissSansa: all but the front few. The documentary maker designed a puffin CGI programme. Apparently it was groundbreaking and they are set to use it in some movies too.**

**Sandor_Clegane: still can’t tell which ones.**

**MissSansa: ikr!!**

Sandor had to search up what that meant. ‘I know, right!’. He was getting fucking old.

**Sandor_Clegane: What about the Wildlings he’s interviewing? They CGI too?**

He felt a reflexive flutter of guilt. Tormund had explained at length why Wildlings were supposed to be referred to as Free Folk, not Wildlings.

**MissSansa: LOL. I think they did an interesting take on Free Folk culture in regard to the puffins. My cousin is married to a Free Folk woman and they had their wedding north of the Wall at the Hardhome national park. They served roast puffin there! That’s where Theon got the idea for this documentary.**

**Sandor_Clegane: so Theon ate puffins then wanted to make a documentary about them?**

**MissSansa: yes 😊**

And he thought his friends were weird.

He sighed as he recalled the shrine to the Lord of Light that Beric had assembled in one of the storerooms at the station, in flagrant contravention of all laws of health, safety and common decency.

Aye, that was weirder than eating puffin.

**Sandor_Clegane: Are these shots of the Wall real? I’ve always wanted to go there.**

**MissSansa: yes, they were real! And the Wall is amazing. It’s like standing beside the biggest skyscraper you can imagine, but it goes as far as you can see either side of you. You can feel the cold coming off it on your cheeks and in your lungs as you breathe.**

**Sandor_Clegane: I’d like to take the bike up there on a roadtrip. All over the North, even.**

**MissSansa: Yes, I’ve seen your motorbike down in the garage. My family all live up North, my Dad is in politics up there, Ned Stark. Well, my sister and her gf are planning to move down here to KL to run a Fencing academy, which will be great.**

Of course she was a fucking Stark. Practically Northern royalty.

Sansa seemed normal, though. Other than her apparent and inexplicable desire to be friends with him.

Families were not a strong point with Sandor. The usual feelings of rage and grief in equal measure always resurfaced.

He scowled and looked back at his TV. Theon ‘Tentacle Porn’ Greyjoy was skydiving from the top of the Wall, watched by clusters of bewildered puffins both real and fake.

That was a safer topic of conversation.

Day 9:

Sandor felt cautiously alright.

He’d been sick for just over a week. He hadn’t coughed since the day before yesterday though, so a hazmat suit had retested him and said they’d let him know the results. At some point. The department was desperate for him to get back to work, but not desperate enough to discard bureaucracy.

He still didn’t feel cooped up, but he enjoyed the fresh air on his balcony.

Sansa leaned against the railing on her side, holding her face angled to catch the faint breeze.

She’d shut her eyes and her long red hair fluttered gently.

Fucking exquisite.

She suddenly opened her eyes and looked over at him. He tried to look as if he hadn’t been staring.

“I’ve never seen you with anyone else. Do you, um,” she paused, and her cheeks flushed pink, “do you have a girlfriend?”

A girlfriend? What the fuck? Had she seen what he looked like?

There was an awkward pause.

“Oh, or boyfriend? Sorry, I shouldn’t assume. My good friend Brienne always gets frustrated when people assume she’s a lesbian. I mean, she is, and she’s dating my sister Arya, but that’s not the point.”

Sandor finally found his voice. “I’m not seeing anyone. I don’t have a girlfriend because I’m fucking ugly.”

He could have sworn Sansa appeared relieved for a moment before what he said sunk in and she looked aghast.

“You are not ugly,” she said fiercely, pointing at him like a fucking old timey school mistress. “You’re so big and strong and, and...” she waved her pointer finger around as she evidently searched for the word she wanted, “… striking. Look at your muscles…” her voice trailed off as she stared at his arms and licked her lips.

Of all the things he expected from this godsforsaken pandemic, it wasn’t getting checked out by his sexy neighbour.

He was into her sternness, though. Hot. Even though it was misdirected into defending him.

“Do you want to have a coffee with me?” she said suddenly.

Sandor’s brows drew together as much as they could with his scars. “I’m still in isolation.”

“Well obviously. I’m still in quarantine. But look.” Sansa sat down in one of the chairs on her balcony. “If I sit here with a drink, and you sit over there with your drink then there is plenty of distance between us. I’ll bring my hand sanitiser out here so I can use it if Stranger comes to visit too.”

There was a lot to unpack about what was happening.

Sandor settled on saying, “You have hand sanitiser? That shit is worth its weight in gold dragons at the moment.”

Sansa looked embarrassed. “My brother Bran sent me a link to an article on sensible preparations to make when reports of the virus first started coming in. So I followed that, making sure I was fully stocked of everything I might need.”

“No hoarding then?” said Sandor, thinking of the chaos he’d seen in the local shops before the government enacted the lockdown regulations.

Apparently there had been fist fights over toilet paper. Fucking idiots.

Sansa rolled her eyes. “No hoarding, only stuff I’ll use.” 

They both made drinks and sat down. The partition between their balconies was luckily glass and they could hear each other speak just fine.

It was pretty fucking easy chatting to her.

It turned out she worked as a history teacher at the local state high school. The one with all the kids from the Flea Bottom slums. She smiled as she talked about her students, not a word of complaint, though the school had called officers in on a handful of occasions over the years. The department did outreach there. The department minus him, since he’d been long ago deemed too intimidating to talk to kids. Even those slum kids.

Sansa didn’t seem surprised when he told her he was a detective. She’d probably seen him around in his dress uniform, though he wore plain clothes for his everyday duties.

She even laughed a lot when he shared some of the cleaner stories about his colleagues. The time Tormund was assaulted by a handbag wielding old lady, and ended up picking her up and carrying her under his arm. Or when Beric got arrested in Dorne for preaching in the streets, only to end up having an orgy with the arresting officer and various members of her team when they found out he was also a cop. Okay, he cleaned that one up quite a lot. 

She became misty eyed when he told her about the time he got stuck in a storm drain whilst rescuing a basket of kittens back when he was a beat cop.

Stranger jumped on his lap during that story. He and the other kittens had all found good homes. The best possible homes. Sandor had made sure of that.

He’d never talked so much in his fucking life as he could talk to Sansa.

Day 10:

He felt pretty much normal and they organised another ‘coffee date’ on their respective balconies.

Sansa leaned back in her seat, took a sip of her drink and sighed. “I need to watch the _Daenerys Targaryen Variety Hour: Pandemic Edition_.”

Sandor frowned. The name sounded familiar. “That’s the dragon lady? The one who always wears pink?”

Sansa rolled her eyes. “She has three pet bats. Calling them dragons is an affectation. They are pretty cute though.”

“Why do you need to watch it?”

“Some of my students have been mentioning it in our class forums. I need to keep up with pop culture for them.”

Sandor raised his eyebrow. “That’s fucking dedication.”

Sansa shrugged. “I love my kids.”

Sandor searched for the appropriate follow up conversation. Making chit chat wasn’t something he generally bothered with. “What made you get into teaching?”

Sansa hummed. “I saw the way teachers treated my sister Arya when we were growing up. We didn’t get along as children, I was the good girl and the teacher’s pet.” She paused and rolled her eyes. “But Arya was in the grade below me, and she always got in trouble. She hated sitting still and having information thrown at her. She’s a hands on learner but no one bothered to work that out. Our parents were constantly being called into school about her.”

Sandor could relate. Sounded a lot like his experience, except his Dad hadn’t given a shit after his Mum died. 

“Anyway,” she continued, “it inspired me to do better. I wanted the chance to stop kids having to go through that experience, if they had a teacher who would take the time to understand their learning needs.”

“Aye, it’s an important job.” 

“What made you become a policeman?”

Sandor considered how much to tell her of his shitty story. Probably better to get it out of the way. “My brother did this to me, when he caught me playing with one of his toys” he said, tapping his ruined cheek. “He pressed my face in the living room fire and let me burn.”

“Sandor that’s horrible,” Sansa whispered, and he could hardly hear her with the distance between them.

“The hospital called the police, but Dad said it had been an accident and my brother never got into trouble.” Sandor shook his head, remembering. “A basic fucking forensic examination would have revealed the truth. Maybe saved the lives of the poor cunts that Gregor then went on to kill. So, I joined the police force, to stop that happening to someone else.”

Sansa’s eyes looked bright, as if she had tears in them. “That’s so awful. I wish I could hug you.”

She wanted to touch him, even after hearing about the kind of family he came from?

Sandor didn’t know what to do with this information. He shrugged. “It’s a long time ago. Gregor got killed in jail and Dad drank himself to death.”

Sandor chose not to mention his Mum’s death, or that Gregor also killed their sister. He’d had a quiet word in the right ears and made sure Gregor wouldn’t get out of jail alive. He didn’t tell Sansa that either.

Sansa looked heartbroken for him.

Seven Hells, he needed to lighten the mood since he’d fucking destroyed it.

“What about that show you mentioned?”

Sansa sighed, then seemed to gather herself and said, “Do you really want to watch the _Daenerys Targaryen Variety Hour: Pandemic Edition_?”

Sandor was starting to hear the colon before Pandemic Edition.

“Aye,” he said.

“Are you sure?” Sansa said, frowning a little. “It’s probably pretty bad.”

Sandor snorted. “Worse than being stuck inside during a pandemic?”

“No,” she conceded.

It turned out that it was possibly worse than being stuck in the house because of a pandemic. The first twenty minutes of the _Daenerys Targaryen Variety Hour: Pandemic Edition_ consisted of people wearing furry costumes and communicating entirely in roars to each other.

**MissSansa: I think they are supposed to be Ibbenese? If so, this seems racist.**

**Sandor_Clegane: Why doesn’t this have subtitles?**

**MissSansa: Probably we’re supposed to work out what they are saying from their body language?**

**Sandor_Clegane: fucked if I can see anybody language under all that fur.**

**MissSansa: Maybe this is one of Daenerys Targaryen’s really elaborate performance art pieces.**

The next section featured Daenerys herself, scantily clad and dancing (writhing) in a futuristic CGI setting.

**Sandor_Clegane: This is better.**

**MissSansa: this is soft core porn! I can’t believe this is allowed on a show meant for young people.**

**Sandor_Clegane: aye it is, I was a teenage boy once.**

**MissSansa: Sandor!**

There was a cartoon featuring a bounty hunter named Grey Worm, which was decent. The other variety segments were bewildering and psychedelic. Even Stranger found it too much and disappeared off to the bedroom instead of hanging out with him. Hopefully he’d fallen asleep on the little padded blanket Sandor always put on top of his quilt cover, to stop all the black fur getting everywhere.

Sandor suspected he’d have to arrest whoever came up with the idea for this variety show because of whatever substances they’d clearly been ingesting. Wasn’t the Targaryen girl married to a Dothraki? They were into weird shit.

**MissSansa: I can’t believe Olenna Tyrell agreed to be in this.**

**Sandor_Clegane: she’s acting fucking circles around the other performers.**

**MissSansa: she certainly commits.**

**MissSansa: I met her once. I know her granddaughter and we met at their family estate.**

Naturally, Sansa would think it was normal for someone to have a family estate.

He shook his head, reminding himself that she worked in a fucking slum school and wasn’t at all pretentious.

**Sandor_Clegane: what’s she like?**

**MissSansa: terrifying, LOL. Her grandchildren all love her though, so she can’t be as scary as she appears.**

**Sandor_Clegane: she can carry a tune still. Impressive fucking dancing skills.**

**MissSansa: I think that might be a body double. I don’t think doing the splits would be physically possible at her age.**

He couldn’t believe he’d agreed to watch this terrible show for Sansa. Maybe she wasn’t the only one with a crush…

Day 11:

There was no breeze today, just the usual muggy Kings Landing weather.

Stranger lay on his back right in the middle of the balcony, fluffy black stomach on full display. Sandor assumed he was trying to absorb any residual coolness from the ceramic tiles.

Sansa fanned herself with her hand, tendrils of bright hair plastered on her forehead. He could think of more entertaining ways to make her sweat than the fucking weather.

“Did you want to have coffee together?” Sansa said, fiddling with her coffee mug. “Out of the house, I mean. Ah, once the cafes reopen.”

He shouldn’t be surprised, given that she’d suggested all their social interactions so far, but fuck. He was many things, but stupid wasn’t one of them. She was asking him out.

He eyed her. She was biting her lips and looked nervous, but he didn’t detect any bullshit,

“Aye,” he said.

She let out a long breath and grinned at him. “Good. I made you beef casserole. I hope you like dumplings on top. I used my Mum’s recipe, and she puts cheese in the mixture. There were so many of us that she didn’t do dough balls, she doubled the recipe and spread it on top.”

She was fucking amazing. He didn’t deserve her food now. Not that he ever did.

“I’m not sick anymore. Just waiting on the test results.”

Her face fell. “You don’t want my food?”

Fuck.

He was such a cunt.

“Your food is bloody great,” he said hurriedly. “It’s… well it’s one of the nicest fucking things anyone’s ever done for me.”

She looked a little mollified. “I love to cook. I always make stuff for my friends and all of my colleagues. Our deputy principal Davos swears he’s put on weight since I started working with him. It’s so stressful, being stuck inside like this. Cooking and baking is really helpful as a stress release for me.”

Sandor wasn’t aware of a difference between cooking and baking. Wasn’t making food… making food?

She seemed to be expecting a response.

“Aye,” he said. “You need a stress release in times like these.”

His typical stress releases were running, wanking, and going for long drives on his bike, in that order. Two of those three were currently off the table, and he wasn’t going to discuss his cock with her. Though the way she sometimes looked at him, maybe that wasn’t too far off the horizon. Once they were allowed to touch, anyway.

She was looking at him like that again, biting her lip and staring at his biceps. So soon after he upset her about the food? Women made his fucking head spin.

Day 12:

**MissSansa: What about that new show with Ellaria Sand?**

**Sandor_Clegane: Isn’t she Oberyn Martell’s partner?**

**MissSansa: Yes! I’ve been dying to learn about the SanElla method. My friend Margaery swears by it.**

Sandor snorted, then decided to play with her a little.

**Sandor_Clegane: well if your friend Margaery says it’s good then sign me up**

**MissSansa: ohh the big man is getting sassy**

The mind boggled as to what the SanElla method entailed. Maybe it was yoga? He had a certain fondness for women in yoga videos. That did seem like something Sansa would be into.

Five minutes later, after synchronising their streams of the show, Sandor realised there were no yoga pants clad women’s bottoms in sight.

Ellaria Sand wore Oberyn Martell’s branded jeans. Not that Sandor noticed things like that. She swept into the house of a hapless couple and began shrieking and waving her arms around when confronted by their possessions.

It was perplexing.

**Sandor_Clegane: what’s wrong with people having too much shit?**

**MissSansa: it’s cluttering their lives! they are overwhelmed!**

**Sandor_Clegane: Why the fuck is that man talking to his boxer shorts though?**

**MissSansa: Because he doesn’t use them anymore and he’s giving them away. But he has to thank them first.**

**Sandor_Clegane: I AM NEVER TALKING TO MY UNDERWEAR**

**MissSansa: but there must be something you have that you don’t need?**

**Sandor_Clegane: I have an extra taser that I stole from Tormund**

**MissSansa: …**

**MissSansa: okay tasers don’t count. Anything else?**

**Sandor_Clegane: too many pornographic coffee mugs. Bloody Bronn keeps giving me them.**

**MissSansa: do they spark joy?**

**Sandor_Clegane: tits always spark joy**

**MissSansa: LOL. Naughty!**

She took his risqué comment well. He shouldn’t really be surprised. She was the one who asked him out, after all.

**Sandor_Clegane: What about you? Anything you need to declutter?**

**MissSansa: well**

**MissSansa: promise you won’t laugh**

**Sandor_Clegane: I can’t make that promise**

**MissSansa: oh, come on, you are always so serious! that’s an easy promise.**

She had him there. His life hadn’t had much worth laughing about. Sansa though, she made him smile. Or, at least, want to smile. Even in the middle of a fucking pandemic. Maybe she’d make him laugh too. One day. Not soon, but one day.

**Sandor_Clegane: I told you about my titty mugs. You have to share.**

**MissSansa: FINE!!**

**MissSansa: I collect knitting magazines**

**MissSansa: So many**

**MissSansa: one whole shelf of my bookcase.**

**MissSansa: Ellaria would be so mad**

**Sandor_Clegane: What’s wrong with that?**

**MissSansa: But I can’t knit**

**Sandor_Clegane: I see**

**MissSansa: but I like all the patterns, even though they are total gibberish**

**MissSansa: I want to knit. It seems like something the Sansa I Aspire To Be would do. I want to be the kind of person who makes cute and funky knitwear.**

**MissSansa: I’m an aspirational knitter**

**Sandor_Clegane: why don’t you learn then?**

**MissSansa: well I’m always so busy I feel like I never catch my breath long enough to stop and learn. And any free time I have I always cook for people.**

**Sandor_Clegane: Aye, makes sense. But you’ve got all the time in the world now.**

**MissSansa: true! Can’t exactly go out and buy craft supplies though** **☹ Even deliveries are really hard to get.**

Sandor frowned. He’d wanted to get Sansa something to say thank you for feeding him while he had been busy coughing up a lung. He wasn’t able to go back to work for a few days, depending on the test results, but he might be able to call in some favours.

He sent a message in his station group chat before settling back to watch Ellaria Sand shout at more people.

Day 13:

**MissSansa: [img2387]**

**MissSansa:** **😉**

Sandor blinked at the photo.

It was of Sansa in bed. Her bright hair spread across the pillow and he itched to tangle his fingers in it. Of more note though was that she was topless. The photo cut off at her breasts, and her arm covered all the particularly interesting bits but fuck. She was glorious.

They’d been flirting, and had become friends, and she’d asked him on a date for when the world got back to whatever normal they would end up with, but he hadn’t expected this. She was so fucking beautiful. Did watching _Tidying up with Ellaria Sand_ together last night make her horny?

Maybe she sent it to him as a mistake? He was still recovering from someone like her asking an ugly old fuck like him out, surely she wouldn’t send him a risqué photo unless she wanted to?

**MissSansa: Do I spark joy?** **😉**

Fucking winky faces were going to be the death of him.

**Sandor_Clegane: You are fucking sexy**

**MissSansa: thank you ❤❤❤**

There was a knock on his door. Sam’s voice called a greeting through and said he was safe to open it.

Samwell Tarly, one of more competent crime scene techs of Sandor’s acquaintance, was wearing a hazmat suit and carrying a box.

Sandor looked him up and down. “Seems excessive.”

Sam grinned behind his mask. “You shouldn’t be shedding any more, regardless of what the test result will be, but it's good practice to be safe.”

“I fucking hate that phrase. Shedding makes me sound like a mangy hound.”

The younger man shrugged. “I have the things you wanted. It’s all extra stuff Gilly didn’t need. She’s like a dragon, except instead of hoarding gold she hoards wool.”

Sam giggled. Grown men giggling would generally make Sandor angry, but actually Sam was okay at his job and not a fuckwit so he got a pass. Sandor respected competence.

Stranger came out to greet Sam and graciously accept a pat, though he sniffed Sam’s glove first. They were old friends from the storm drain rescue days. Sam and his wife owned Stranger’s sister.

Sandor looked at the box. “Thanks.”

Sam nodded. “Gilly said there was worsted weight wool yarn and size four needles. I don’t know what that means, but she said that’s best for a beginner.”

They bid farewell and Sandor, the box and Stranger went back into his apartment. He needed to send a photo to Sansa in response. He didn’t want to send one of his face, because he didn’t want to make her sick regardless of what she said about how he looked. A dick pic was out because he wasn’t a cunt.

He searched the internet for guidance on the typical approach to sexting.

Turned out ab shots were also acceptable. That he could do.

He took one in his bathroom mirror, of his bare torso and the elastic of his underwear.

**Sandor_Clegane: [img0137]**

It was the first image on his personal phone that wasn’t of the cat.

Fuck.

He was a Crazy Cat Guy.

**MissSansa: OMG SANDOR you are so sexy!! ❤❤😘**

Aye, she was horny.

Guys who sent dick pics were fuckwits, though it sounded like she maybe wouldn’t mind one. Perhaps after they’d fucked, and she’d seen his cock in person. He didn’t want to scare her.

Should he offer to have phone sex with her?

No, it was way too soon. Sansa was special and deserved to be treated with respect. He didn’t want to be intimate with her before they’d even kissed.

Fuck this was frustrating.

**Sandor_Clegane: thanks**

**MissSansa: I really wish we could have that in-person date**

**Sandor_Clegane: won’t be long now**

Shit. He needed to go and have a wank in the shower to relieve tension.

Fuck this fucking isolation shit.

**Sandor_Clegane: Do you want to watch more episodes of _Oberyn Martell’s Fashion Fixes?_**

**Sandor_Clegane: in 5 minutes**

**Sandor_Clegane: make that 10**

**MissSansa: let’s give it 15, and it’s a ‘date’**

Day 14:

Sandor got a welcome phone call moments before Sansa knocked on his door.

“It’s been two weeks of quarantine so I’m free!” said Sansa, leaning on the wall down the hallway. She grimaced, then amended, “well, if by free I mean, I can go to the supermarket and the chemist once a week until the pandemic is over, then yes, I am free.”

Sandor hummed. “I got my negative test. I’m back to work tomorrow.”

Sansa’s cheeks flushed pink. “So. We could potentially touch each other?”

Sandor’s imagination short circuited at her words. His fingers twitched with the profound desire to touch her in a large variety of pleasurable places.

“Aye,” he rasped, hoarser than usual.

Sansa blushed even harder. “I meant being in the same room, sitting together. But other stuff as well.”

They stared at each other from the customary several paces, before Sandor remembered the box.

“I got you something,” he said, before retrieving it. He carried it in a towel then carefully unwrapped it and slid it down the hallway towards her. “To say thanks for cooking for me.”

“I was happy to help,” said Sansa, “but thank you.”

“It’s nothing much.”

She opened it and gasped. “Sandor! I can learn to knit properly. How did you get this stuff?”

“I called in a few favours. The wife of one of my colleagues had that shit spare.”

“Was that the man in the hazmat suit? I saw him through my door.”

“Aye.”

“I’ll have to get her details off you so I can send her a thank you note. And thank you as well,” she looked at him and grinned, stepped forward a few steps and held out her hand.

He took it. It felt like a fucking lifetime since he had touched anyone else.

Her hand was warm, and she smelled like lemons. Where the fuck did she get fresh lemons?

She smiled up at him, then stepped right into his personal space.

Couldn’t be any bloody clearer that she wanted a kiss. He cupped her beautiful face with his rough hand and waited for her to sway into him. He had learned from long experience that he looked even worse close up and wanted to give her a chance to change her mind.

By some fucking miracle she didn’t. She reached up and touched his fucked-up cheek with her free hand, then lifted her lips to brush his.

She tasted faintly of sweet lemon tarts. He moved his hand to tangle it in her soft hair and she moaned into his mouth. He deepened the kiss and she pressed right against him as she responded. She was so fucking soft and lush, and she felt absolutely perfect in his arms.

Whatever happened in the future, he knew he was the luckiest man in the whole fucking world.

**Author's Note:**

> US readers who knit might be thinking the needle size Gilly gave to Sansa is too small for that weight of wool, but I used the UK size, which is what we also use in Australia/NZ.


End file.
